


All Scars And Smiles

by ruff_ethereal



Category: Inside Out (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Death Threats, Doctor!Disgust, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Past Violence, Reporter!Fear, Scars, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruff_ethereal/pseuds/ruff_ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of the many things Disgust is not sure if she loves or hates about her boyfriend, it's his ability to remain positive in spite of the constant, never-ending danger to his life his job puts him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Scars And Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own headcanons about an Inside Out Human AU.

Bullet wounds. Shrapnel marks. Faded nicks, cuts, and deep slices. More scars than any one person should ever have.

It was amazing, how many of them Fear had on that skinny, noodley body of his; how he'd managed to survive all the incidents that caused them; and why he still willingly put himself at risk of getting more of them.

It was why they always made love with the lights out; when they didn't, Disgust was always blindfolded or otherwise couldn't see that living mural of brutality and violence that was his body.

But even if she couldn't see them, she could always feel them.

The rough patches earned from gunfire, grenades, and mortars; the lines from knives, claws, and scalpels; the long, long scar just above his stomach from that one katana. She couldn't miss any of them as she ran her hands on his skin, she ground her body against his, or they held each other close.

The callous and rough patches from so many abrasions and hard labour; the thick, hardened carapaces that were his palms; the way his left ring finger moved a little less agile and jerkily than the others as he touched her so lovingly, teased her in the ways only he knew how, held her with that firm grip that let her know he was there and he was never going to leave her.

The ugly line around his shaft, the way his erection was just _slightly_ crooked at the tip as she stroked him or went down on him, driving him mad all while trying her best to ignore that patch of dead, unfeeling skin there.

She wasn't ashamed, repulsed, or scared of his body. She hadn't looked away for a moment when he first stripped completely nude in front of her; she could do her make-up while he showered beside her with nothing but a clear glass wall between them; and she always watched him dress when she could, see him pull on the clothes that would make him look absolutely _ridiculous_ , keep anyone from taking him completely seriously, and hide the full extent of his scars and the muscles underneath.

She just couldn't bear to look at him while they made love. It reminded her too much of the things he had done, the things he was capable of, the things she wouldn't had believed were true if she hadn't seen the videos, heard the eyewitness accounts, and even seen some of them with her own two eyes.

Fear, slowly bleeding to death, propped up against a wall and using what could have been his last breaths to report on a battle where the bullets were still flying, the explosions were still shaking the ground, and the screams of the soldiers, the civilians, and the dying filled the air.

Fear, blocking a blade with his bare palm, stopping it from reaching his heart before disarming his attacker with the his other hand.

Fear, hands covered in blood, which wasn't his own, which _he'd_ spilled.

Fear was paranoid, scared of pretty much everything, and always knew just how anything in his immediate vicinity could kill or seriously injure him or others. And if there was one time she didn't want to be reminded of _why_ he was like that, it was when she was making love to him, when she didn't want care about anyone but themselves, when she just wanted him to stay and be with her.

If other people knew about their relationship, they might have asked her why she stayed, how she could deal with him constantly risking his life just like that, and why she hadn't tried to convince him to do something safer.

She probably would have asked herself those same questions, if she didn't already know the answer.

It was the reason Fear found reason to go to work each day, asking uncomfortable questions, going undercover, standing in front of a camera with a confident smile on his face as he spoke about the latest controversy to rock the San Francisco area. The reason he gleaned death threats for important details, made plans in case someone decided to follow up on them, then cheerfully went on doing whatever it was someone out there wanted so badly to stop. The reason he had spent three years getting shot and shot at, sleeping on cold, hard ground and bombed out buildings, and living under constant threat of painful death and grievous injury.

It was the reason she deleted or sent back a rejection letter to every offer by private companies for better positions in prestigious hospitals with much larger salaries. The reason she dealt with teenagers lining up at her door with their faces hidden and their heads down, men and women who had uncomfortable problems in some _very_ bad places indeed, and people who had absolutely no idea how sex _actually_ worked. The reason she had spent so much money, time, and effort to work for an underfunded, understaffed, and under-equipped clinic that could barely afford to pay her.

Their jobs were dangerous, thankless, and paid terribly—but _someone_ had to do them.

* * *

Sweater vest, slacks, and of course, Fear couldn't forget the bow tie. Disgust had suggested all manner of much, much, _much_ more fashionable clothes that still retained that aura of harmlessness he worked so hard to maintain, but his work clothes was one area he would refuse her advice.

He turned around and smiled at Disgust. “How do I look?”

Disgust looked away and groaned. “Ridiculous--'The Nerd from that Terrible 70's High School Movie: The Later Years.'”

Fear smiled. “Perfect!”

Disgust shook her head and returned to her putting on her make-up. She had done it hundreds of times before and could do it blind and with one hand, but she wasn't about to risk her appearance being anything less than perfect. Today wasn't an anniversary, an event, nor was there anything terribly important happening at work, but there was _never_ an excuse to look anything less than your best in public.

As always, she applied that same care to cooking breakfast, making them both something fresh, heath and part of a their balanced diets, and most importantly hadn't come from a vacuum sealed plastic package or—she shuddered—a can. And as always, he set the table, placing everything where it was supposed to be, making sure all the utensils perfectly straight, and everything was as shiny and clean as he could make it.

The apartment _still_ didn't have any fine china, a table cloth, or place mats, but Disgust had long learned how to live with it.

“So, what are you doing to make people hate you today?” Disgust asked as she sat down and picked up her fork. She examined it closely, pleased to note that it was spotless.

Fear smiled as he buttered his toast. “I'm heading to that new mural by Senator Woodrow's office; they just found out about it earlier this morning, and it'll make a great companion piece to the bill they're trying to push!”

“Let me guess: Funky Monkey's work again?” Disgust asked as she cut a precise, bite-sized section of her vegetable omelet.

“You betcha! Even if what they're doing is _totally_ illegal, you have to admit they're pretty good at bringing attention to issues that need them.” Fear set down his buttered slice and picked up a new slice of toast.

“What'd she make this time?” Disgust asked as she brought her food up to her mouth.

“Woodrow standing proudly in front of an American flag, while holding a _very_ large revolver between his legs.” Fear replied casually as he sliced off a small chunk of butter from the bar.

Disgust's omelet slowly slid off her fork and back onto her plate with a quiet plop. Then, she shook her head.

“Monkey knows how to make an impact!” Fear said as he buttered his second slice.

“You're going to wear the bulletproof vest, aren't you?” Disgust asked as she cleaned up and scooped up the tiny mess.

“I'm already wearing it!” Fear replied happily. “I've also got the full set of body armour in the news van, if it comes to that.”

Disgust put her fork down and sighed.. “You know, when most reporters get threatened by gun toting nutjobs _en masse_ , they decide to stay at home for a while and ask the police over to stay for a few weeks.”

“Well, I'm not most reporters! Someone's got to tell people the facts as they really are, not what others want you to believe!” Fear said before he took a bite out of his buttered toast.

Disgust shot him a withering look before returning to her food. It wouldn't do to skip breakfast, especially with the limited, nutritionally lacking selection she could pick up around her workplace. For his part, Fear changed topics to all the positive buzz his investigations into Woodrow had generated—basically everything that wasn't someone yelling at him; threatening to shoot him, murder him, or otherwise do horrific injury to him; or accusing him of being a member of their Anti-American organization of choice.

Breakfast was eaten, the dishes were done, dried, and put away, and the rest of Fear's kitchen had been turned as bacteria-unfriendly as time and his cleaning supplies could make it. The two of them picked up their briefcases and purses, made last minute touch-ups on their appearance, before they stood by the front door.

“Remember where we're going to meet in case of city-wide emergency?” Fear asked.

“Archer Square.” Disgust replied.

“Got your mace?”

Disgust rolled her eyes. “As if I'd ever forget that.” She said as she opened her purse and showed off the can.

“Are you sure it's got enough in it?”

“I can show you right now, if really you want to be sure.”

Fear gulped and held up his hand. “That won't be necessary.”

Disgust smirked. “You sure that vest is on right?” She asked, her expression turning serious once more.

Fear lifted his sweater vest up and showed off the kevlar underneath. Disgust tugged and pulled at it, it barely moved.

“Remember where you're going tonight after work?” Disgust asked warily.

Fear smiled. “Riverside Cafe, eight PM sharp!”

Disgust smiled back. “Good. Be there, or have a _very_ good excuse, alright?”

Fear gave her a salute. “Will do!”

He bent his knees, she stood up in her heels, and they kissed.

“Stay safe out there, alright?” Disgust whispered as she pulled away.

“I will.” Fear whispered back.

Fear opened the door a crack, waited for any potential assassins to try to force their way in and shoot him, before carefully peering out at the hall outside. When he found no immediate dangers, he happily pulled open the door and bowed, giving Disgust a cheesy smile as she walked past.

She didn't smile back, though they both knew that was just because she was paranoid someone they knew might see them and make the link that they were dating, and make either of them great kidnapping targets.


End file.
